Ghosts
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: UBCS or USS, in a way, they were all ghosts.


**Ghosts**

It was autumn, and Moscow was freezing.

Granted, autumn in Russia was effectively winter. It had been the case in the 80s, and it remained so in the 90s. The flags had changed, the government had changed, but the facts of life hadn't.

Walking towards the safe house, Nikolai reflected that even if not for those changes, the city would have still not felt like home. He hadn't had a "home" in about a decade. The Soviet Union had collapsed. Its armed forces had collapsed. People like him found themselves no longer wanted in the Red Army. Years of being told that it was his duty to fight against the capitalist West, and in the end, capitalism was the force that came to his salvation. The Umbrella Corporation was capitalism incarnate – hyper-profits, and not a single shit given as to what those profits might cost the world. Far as he was aware, it had cost part of Africa quite a bit. It had cost the United States over 100,000 lives in the scope of a week. And reeling from what was being called the Raccoon City Incident, it was costing Umbrella itself. Reputation. Personnel. Most importantly of all (for the board of directors at least), money.

He didn't particularly care. He'd jumped one ship, he could jump another. Some things in the world didn't change. The need for soldiers certainly didn't – despite claims to the contrary, 1991 hadn't been the end of history. And October 1st, 1998, wouldn't be the last mass murder in the history of planet Earth either. Considering what had gone on in the world since 1991, from Rwanda to Bosnia, the Americans had got off pretty lightly.

More things that he only partially cared about. Reaching the safe house, trying not to shiver, he knocked three times. The slit in the door's top centre opened up.

"Do sleeping dogs lie?"

"No. Sleeping dogs die."

"By whose hand but that of Man?"

"The right hand, for in it is held the knife."

The slit was closed, and a second later, Nikolai heard the sound of bolts being undone. A few seconds after that, and more shivering, the door was opened. In it, he saw a man, and behind him in the corner, two more USS grunts.

"I'd have said that in Russian, but mine isn't that good," the contact said.

"Think nothing of it." Nikolai walked in. "Do you have anything to drink here?"

The door shut and he glanced around. The contact was still standing there. His left hand was in his pocket. In his right was a Glock pistol with a silencer.

"We have things to drink," the contact said. "Whether we get to them is another matter."

Nikolai smirked.

"What?"

"You think I'm not aware of the subtleties of interrogation?"

"Who said this was an interrogation?"

"It became one the moment you drew your weapon." He extended his arms out, the smirk widening. "I can't say I'm afraid though. If you wanted me dead, you'd have shot me as soon as I got to the door, or hell, before that. You could have shot me in the street, and not a single police officer in this rotting city would have cared."

The contact smirked. "So little faith in your own country Nikolai?"

"I've seen _Casablanca_. My nationality is drunkard."

"Odd. Aren't all Russians eligible for that nationality?"

"Mother Russia can rot for all I care. Now stop wasting time and either shoot me or get down to business."

A silence lingered in the room. The contact stood there, a pistol still in his hands. Nikolai glanced at the two USS troopers – they stood there, still wearing their ridiculous gas masks. Moscow was a shit hole, but at least the air was still breathable. And if they wanted to poison him, that didn't account for his contact.

"Alright," the man said. "Let's talk business." He gestured with the pistol to the table in the centre of the room – the only built feature in it apart from a fridge plugged into an outlet that was surrounded by mould. This might have been a safehouse intended for Umbrella operatives, but it was clear that they hadn't thrown their money around here. Oligarchs ran his homeland now, but for once, Umbrella Inc. had apparently shown some restraint. Frowning, Nikolai took a seat, making sure it was the one facing the USS grunts. His contact took the seat opposite, but not before holstering his pistol.

"For the record, this is more of a debriefing," he said.

"A debriefing concerning what?"

"Raccoon City of course. What else?"

Nikolai folded his arms. "I gave my debriefing."

"I know you did. We'll get to that." The man gestured towards one of the USS operatives. The mask-wearing goon picked up a briefcase and brought it over.

"Thank you," the contact said.

"Do you have a name?" Nikolai asked.

"Does it matter?" the man asked as he put the briefcase on the table.

"I'd like to know the name of the person debriefing me."

"And I'd like a unicorn. Doesn't mean I look for one every time I see horses." He unlocked the briefcase and took out some stapled papers, turning them around on the desk so that Nikolai could read them. "Recognise this, sergeant?"

Nikolai nodded. "It's the transcript of my debriefing."

"Very good." He opened up the file to one of the last pages. "Read this part please."

Nikolai, seeing the segment the contact was referring to, frowned. "Is there a reason for this?"

"Doesn't matter. Just do it."

"Fine." Nikolai cleared his throat and began reciting the report he'd written a month ago. _"Furthermore, I can confirm the death of STARS member Jill Valentine. Utilizing the helicopter I recovered at the Dead Factory, I was able to terminate the subject."_ He met the contact's gaze. "I don't see what the controversy is. Jill Valentine's dead. If you wanted a body, I'm afraid I had other considerations in mind, not the least of which was the approaching missile that would have vaporized my proof."

"I'm well aware of how nuclear bombs work sergeant." The contact took the transcript away and instead took out a set of photos from the briefcase. "Question is, are you aware about how airport surveillance works?"

Nikolai saw the images and swore.

"Something wrong, sergeant?"

"How…" He cleared his throat, meeting the contact's gaze. "How did you get this?"

"Believe it or not, the staff at Charles de Gaulle Airport is quite open to providing surveillance if offered the right incentive."

Incentive. Right now, Nikolai had the incentive to swear and/or shoot.

He recognised the bitch in the surveillance photos. Jill Valentine. Wearing sunglasses and clothing much more modest than what she'd had on in Raccoon City, but he recognised the little cunt anywhere.

"She entered France using a false identity of course," the contact continued. "The STARS members aren't on any international watch lists, so getting into Europe isn't too hard."

Nikolai said nothing.

"Which begs the question though as to why Jill Valentine is even alive," the contact continued. "I mean, for all we know, Jill Valentine can indeed survive being shot by a rotary cannon. I mean, certainly the Nemesis failed to hunt her down."

Nikolai still said nothing. He was busy looking for any sign of the contact's Glock, or that the two USS troopers in the corner were liable to use their MP5s.

"But then, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one, so I'm going on a limb and assuming that you lied."

"That's a big assumption," Nikolai murmured.

"Is it? I mean, considering that confirmation of the deaths of Brad Vickers and Jill Valentine were bonuses for UBCS supervisors, and that you 'confirmed' the death of the latter and received said bonus, is it really that big?"

Nikolai said nothing. His mind was elsewhere, at the moment when he'd left Valentine to die. At the time, it was a moment of triumph. Now, the memory brought the taste of ashes.

"So then, why lie to us?" the contact asked.

Nikolai shrugged. "I thought it was a safe assumption that Valentine would perish in the missile strike."

The contact frowned, leaning back in his chair. "That might have been a safe assumption if we weren't dealing with someone that not only survived the Arklay Mansion, but also a week of hell."

"I've been in hell longer than a week," Nikolai said. "Don't talk to me about hell."

"As someone who's also been in hell longer than a week, I have every right to talk about it," he said. "I also have the right to ask about how you were the only supervisor who survived the incident."

"Are you accusing me of something?"

"Are you accusing me of accusing you?"

"You…" Nikolai took a moment to compose himself. "Umbrella knew that the UBCS would suffer a high casualty rate upon its deployment."

"It did. But it didn't expect that the unit would be wiped out, or that you'd be the only one who made it back."

"You flatter me in your suggestion that I single-handedly killed one-hundred and twenty men."

"You wouldn't need to kill that many, Sergeant Zinoviev. Only a select few, while leaving others to die."

A silence lingered in the room, in which Nikolai fingered his own pistol. If he had to draw, he might get one of the mooks in the room before being shot. Alternatively, he could try and take his interrogator hostage. But that was a long shot, least where he was currently sitting. Taking a breath, he got to his feet.

"Sit down sergeant."

"I'm thirsty," he said, heading for the fridge. He opened it and frowned – bottled water only. He looked at his contact for an explanation.

"We're on duty sergeant. We shouldn't be drinking."

Nikolai took a bottle and took a sip. "Let's take this to the endpoint. You have questions. I have answers. Question is, what does Umbrella care?"

The contact frowned. "I don't follow."

"The US government's issued an indefinite suspension of business decree and it's taking Umbrella to court. How do you think that's going to end?"

The contact leant back in his chair and folded his arms. "I fail to see how that's relevant to the questions of your conduct at Raccoon City?"

"Then what do you think is relevant?" Nikolai began walking over. If he stayed cool, he could get close enough to get the contact in a headlock and use him as a shield before exiting the safehouse. The USS grunts didn't look any more trigger happy than usual, but then, who could say with those masks they were wearing?

"Tell me, when Umbrella collapses-"

"Stop moving sergeant."

Nikolai stopped short – he was still five feet away from the contact. Not nearly enough to apprehend him without getting shot.

"Now sit down."

Nikolai just stood there, taking another sip of water.

The contact sighed. "Our best estimates are that Valentine is trying to make contact with Redfield, who we can only guess is somewhere in France. Thanks to you, we have two ghosts to track instead of one."

"Then track them," Nikolai said. "What harm can they do?"

"You're the one who screwed up sergeant, you're in no position to ask Umbrella about harm. Especially since they're not the only ghosts we have to deal with."

"What? The other STARS members?"

"No. USS members."

Nikolai remained silent. He took a sip, before taking the chair again. For the first time this evening, the contact looked worried. If he could put him at ease by taking a seat, it might be easier to bug out if things went the same way the Soviet Union had.

The contact got out more photos – men and women both. Only they weren't surveillance photos, but rather personnel files. Personnel files that he recognised – all of them with a name, and all of them assigned to Team Wolfpack. The same bastards he'd encountered at Raccoon City. The ones who he'd shot at, and been shot at in turn.

"You alright sergeant? You look a bit pale."

Nikolai took a sip of the water - the bottle was already half empty. "I'm fine."

"Good, because they aren't."

"They're dead?" he asked, his voice more hopeful than he intended.

"No such luck. Rather, they've gone rogue."

"Rogue?"

"Do I need to explain what rogue means sergeant? It means that Wolfpack Team no longer works for the Umbrella Corporation. It had one last job to do, but developed a bleeding heart, and now, we've got six more highly trained operatives out for Umbrella's blood."

"Lots of people are out for Umbrella's blood. What of it?"

"As someone who's worked alongside these six, I can tell you, the answer is a lot."

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. He was seeing something. Something that he was beginning to suspect he should have seen a long time ago. "Who are you?" he murmured.

"Who am I?" The contact leant back in his seat, smirking. "Ten minutes, and you're only now getting to that question?"

"Who. Are. You?"

"I've got many aliases, Sergeant Zinoviev. I'd rather not divulge them. But if I said the name Hunk, would that mean anything to you?"

Nikolai just sat there, frozen in place. He reached for his pistol.

"Hands off sergeant."

He looked at the USS goons. Their fingers were now close to the triggers of their guns.

"Something bothering you?"

He looked at Hunk. The Glock was back on the table, and the mercenary was stroking it.

"Maybe you should finish that water. You look thirsty."

Nikolai did so. A quick swig to quell his beating heart, followed by the plastic bottle dropping to the floor.

"There's something you should know sergeant," Hunk said. "Umbrella doesn't trust you. In fact, I was given permission to terminate you if I deemed you a threat to Umbrella's interests."

"Well-"

"I must say, you've displayed very little faith in Umbrella's future."

Nikolai remained silent.

"And if I believed in Umbrella's future, I might have gone onto the second phase of the interrogation. And as someone who still has friends in Spetsnaz from what I understand, you can probably guess what that would entail."

Nikolai could. Vividly. But he wasn't thinking about torture techniques. Rather, he was thinking about what Hunk had said earlier.

"If you believed in Umbrella's future…"

Hunk leant back in his chair.

"Why am I here?" Nikolai said. "Really?"

"Officially you're here to be debriefed. Because Umbrella wants to conduct as little of its activities in America and Europe as possible right now."

"And unofficially?"

"Because I…we…" Hunk nodded at the two USS troopers. "Are beginning to consider our options."

"And yet I'm here."

"You're here because you've got contacts. If you wanted to jump ship, you could easily slip yourself into any mercenary outfit."

Nikolai saw where this was going.

"So here's what's going to happen," Hunk said. "You're going to give me those contacts. You're not going to contact any of them without letting me know. If you decide to jump ship, you let me know."

"So you can execute me?"

"So I can decide when and how I do it when the time comes." He nodded at the troopers. "Same as my men here."

Nikolai couldn't help but smile. "Extortion, is it? I expected more from the Grim Reaper."

"You know how I got that name?" Hunk asked.

"By surviving?"

"By surviving. And I intend to survive this sinking ship called Umbrella." He nodded towards the door. "You can go sergeant."

Nikolai remained seated.

"We'll be in touch."

"What about-"

"Umbrella will accept my report that there was nothing untoward with your conduct in Raccoon City, and that your assumption of the death of Jill Valentine was an innocent misunderstanding."

"How do you know they'll accept it?"

"Because Umbrella will accept any good news it can get right now."

Nikolai supposed he couldn't argue against that. He got to his feet. Hunk remained seated. The two other USS troopers remained standing.

"We'll be in touch," he murmured.

Not for Hunk's sake, but for his. He went to exit the room.

"Ghosts."

He looked back at Hunk. "What?"

"Ghosts." He sighed. "We're all ghosts, aren't we sergeant?"

"Are you turning romantic?"

Hunk held up a picture, showing a man he didn't recognise. "Ghost," he said.

"I don't follow."

"Samuel Davidson. Codename Ghost. Member of USS Alpha Team, killed by William Birkin after he injected himself with the G virus and chased us through the sewers." He sighed. "Or so I thought, before he was sighted in Tokyo."

Nikolai smirked. "So you're not your team's sole survivor then?"

"Being the sole survivor has perks. But when faced with the face of the living dead…" He sighed. "Well, we both know what that's like, don't we sergeant?"

Nikolai said nothing. Nor did Hunk.

They both knew the answer.

* * *

_A/N_

_The idea for this came from the _Ghost Survivours _DLC for _Resident Evil 2_. Obstensibly, each of the scenarios is a "what if?" one, depicting a character that dies in canon. However, for Kendo and Ghost, there's really nothing stopping them from surviving canonically anyway. To be honest, this approach kind of bothers me in games (and not just _Resident Evil_), where "what if?" scenarios are used when syncing them with canon wouldn't be that difficult. Ended up drabbling this up as a result._

_Of course, any mention of Ghost in this was pretty tangental, but meh._


End file.
